Tiffany Clare - The Surrender of a Lady

Elena cried silently as she was forced to raise her other arm for the same treatment. She looked to no one, not that she saw much of her surroundings through her tears of shame. She could only imagine what they would do with her more private area.

Sweat and steam beaded all over her body, dripping into her eyes, stinging them.

Laila carried on. “After this, Maram, another sister here, will thread what hairs grow back. It is quick. Not as quick as the paste, but safer.” Laila placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “Stop crying, my sister.” Her voice held new warmth. “You will get used to this.”

“I won’t. I can’t possibly live this way.” Her words came out a blubbering wail.

She clamped her mouth shut and bit her lip to still the tremor.

“But you have no choice. You can never leave. The only way to find yourself in the land beyond is with your dying breath. Think of your child. He is the only child you will know. We are not permitted motherhood here. You are blessed in life. Never take that for granted.”

Elena choked on a final sob and looked up with a nod. “How can you not have children if you are slaves of a . a bawdy nature?” She tripped over the last few words and looked away from the woman, swiping away the wetness on her cheek, though it did no good when the whole of her was sticky from the steam.

“Ah, I see how little you understand. There are ways. When we go to the bathing room I will show you how to use the sponge. It collects a man’s milk, so it cannot plant within your womb. If his seed is persistent, we use strong herbs to purge our body of the union.”

Laila took Elena’s arm in her grasp, lifting it level to her eye, and inspected it closely.

“You have no hair on your arms, this is good. It always hurts to take it from the body here.” The warm hand of the man holding her tilted her head back. “No hair in your nostrils, either. That hurts the most. It will sting a little to remove from your legs, though. I ask you now, will you cooperate to have the hair of your woman’s mound removed?”

Elena took a deep breath and answered with as steady a voice as she could muster.

“I—I will. If you’ll send away the men.” She gave a pointed glare toward the dark-skinned, fat one who stood in front of them. He looked uninterested in the task at hand and paid her no mind.

“They will stay in the room, but I will send them to the farthest wall. They are not men. You must remember this. All in the harem quarters are either woman or eunuch. The only man permitted in our living quarters is Amir.”

“Will I truly be expected to keep Amir company tonight?”

“Maybe tonight, maybe in a few days. Much depends on his business outside the harem. You have no need to fear him. Perhaps that is something you can only understand with time. But remember, he brought your child here.”

Elena nodded her agreement with that. “How many women live here?”

Distracting herself with conversation was easier than paying scrupulous attention to Laila’s ministrations. The hair being scraped off her lower legs burned a great deal. It felt as if a layer of skin had been torn from her.

“Thirty-six. His harem is not so big as the one I grew up in. Of course this is different, since other men may purchase us. But only from time to time.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the inner workings of a harem.”

“I will explain it all in due time. I can tell you that this is a kinder existence than being forgotten, should you have one man for a thousand women. That life is much more lonely.”

Elena gasped. She seemed to be doing that too much. A thousand ? How was it possible that one man could have so many women at his disposal? How could any woman tolerate living that way? She’d only ever wanted to spend her life with one man—Griffin. She remembered him fondly, but when he’d left England for whatever reason, she’d been forced into marriage with an altogether different kind of man. Both those men were now gone from her life and in their place was another person wanting to force her hand to his own advantage.

“Stand, my sister.” Laila’s words pulled her back to the present. “You must take your pantalets down. Do not blush so. This is not something I haven’t seen before. It will be done before you know it.”

Elena looked wearily around her. The men had retreated, and she wondered if that was the reason her fear had abated slightly. How could she ever get used to the eunuchs’ presence during ablutions, if one could call it such? Laila started to pull her pantalets down when Elena stalled mid-thought. She lowered one hand to cover herself and looked about nervously.

“Lie on the bench.” Laila tapped the seat beside her and Elena sat. “You don’t need to be shy. Put one leg on either side and lie back.”

“Might I have a moment to collect myself?”

Laila gave a sultry chuckle. Elena did as directed, one arm across her breasts and the other clenched in a tight fist as she spread her legs to rest on either side of the stone slab. Laila didn’t give her a moment to change her mind, smearing the paste over the hairs at her center.

“Spread your legs farther. You do not want this on your inner pink skin.”

Since she did not obey quickly enough, her legs were pressed wider, small fingers covering the hair lower down, even around her rear entrance. Elena was shocked into stillness, her breath frozen in her lungs. Then the scrape of a shell pressed against her skin, leaving another burning patch of tender flesh in its wake. Warm water was poured between the folds of her sex while impersonal fingers washed away remnants of rusma.

“You see . we are done.”

Elena lowered her hand to touch her center. She kept her eyes squeezed shut. The skin was bare, sensitive. She was like a prepubescent girl with no hair to identify her as a woman. What kind of perversity was this? She spread her fingers out to cover her nakedness. She opened her eyes. Laila stared down at her.

When she found her voice, she said, “My name is Elena . ”

“Pretty name. But you will want to change it. A new identity will free you from your old life. Now come, we have to go to the bathhouse. The water will soothe the afterburn.”

Griffin watched the women through a gauzy-white silk screen. All the patrons were situated in a wraparound balcony that faced the baths below. The harem girls lounged, played music, and braided each other’s hair. They were posed so strategically, it was almost enough to fill any man’s fantasy seeing them this way.

And wholly unrealistic. This had so obviously been staged for the benefactors of the auction. Not that he cared it was staged.

“What do you think, my good man?” Asbury asked.

Griffin leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I see no difference in the women here from the beauties found at any established bawdy house.”

“True. But you don’t get quite this variety in Europe unless you go to one of the opium dens.”

Griffin turned and gave his friend a look that said otherwise.

“Fine, you’ve probably had your fair share of Orientals traveling China. And I’m not likely to forget how I found you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to forget, merely thought you shouldn’t be one to judge. I think you’ve supplied all those opium houses back home.”

“When did you become such a priggish maid? Good God, Rothburn. You’ll recall who supplied me with opiates to sell in the beginning.”

“I have come to my senses since. You will eventually, too.”

“Well, if the variety of women here isn’t as pleasing, just know they are a sight bit cleaner than where you were playing. They’re also willing to do anything you fancy.”